Modeling 3

Husband drafted to be life model for art class, finds it's not that bad.

Sometimes, you know, life really does imitate art. Or is that vice-versa? Anyway, freshly early-retired with a move to a college town in the East, I convinced my shy wife, Sharon, that we shouldn't be passive, but should dive right into the local scene. Reluctant at first, she knew I had a point. She also dives and does about everything else much more gracefully and attractively than I. Pushing 50 coming up, she's younger by several years than I, and not only started off with a much better set of blonde and blue-eyed genes, but has worked hard to optimize them, now appearing both younger and more athletic at 5'5", with medium-sized 34B breasts that shouldn't look that good at her age, legs that shouldn't get so many admiring glances, and a face that I find lovely, and which doesn't include any abnormal characteristics, but that most folks frankly might find more ordinary than striking. It's also brilliantly animated when she smiles, which is rare in crowds but often once she's relaxed into a setting or with friends.

I work out to stay lean (I look and feel better on the slim side, I think), but have to work at it, trying to stay only a league or so beneath her in looks and energy. I'm hating having turned the half century mark last year and having now as well to admit to thinning hair. I stand 5' 10", 165 lbs, with similarly unstriking, and in my case likely pretty forgettable looks. I do keep my chest hair and groin close-trimmed since it gets a bit rangy and is graying, dammit, and I'm without back hair, for what it's worth. Thankfully, I am acceptable to her, even "hot," as she claims - and far be it from me to call her a liar in that regard, although I privately merely think her blind. We're fortunately financially set now, but this isn't about finances.

While I sought out town boards and tennis partners when we moved about a year ago to here, a "neighborhood rich" area, Sharon found, among other things, an art club to join - a half dozen or so women of several certain ages, mostly from towns nearby, who met monthly at the home studio of Adele, a local female studio and art history professor who enjoys mentoring the ladies of the club, most of whom are more serious and dedicated to improving than Adele's typical college age students. The club, or class, has some women who are pretty damn good in my uneducated opinion, and some who would struggle to fill in the paint-by-numbers genre, judging from the "show" they had at the end of last year's term. Sharon is among the best of the lot, and while she doesn't aspire to going beyond amateur, I know she thrives on getting better as she goes. And so she has done.

In fact, she has become the teacher's assistant, doing those various little administrative tasks that come up, from scheduling to finding best prices on art supplies to arranging their occasional socials. So, it was no surprise that when Adele announced her pending vacation absence, she asked Sharon if she could host it and keep the group on track. Sharon accepted, and she let me know that they would be taking over the living room for the class. I said fine, that I'd just stay out of their way. She said there were others who were out of town as well, so it would be only four students, including her: Annette, a slim brunette, somewhat brash but always fun Southern belle, Margaret, a bit older and suspected but none of my business lesbian who appeared never far from her friend Julia. I often wondered about them, but they're all nice folks for the little I know of them, and I know Sharon enjoys the group, including joining them all for wine after each class, and more and more often coming home a bit tipsy and downright frisky, which has gotten no objections from me whatsoever.

Now, I'm both very respectful of Sharon's privacy, and I've been busy - that damned first serve of mine just hasn't been working lately, so I may have missed the "oh by the way" part that Sharon says she mentioned some weeks ago - but, really, I think I wouldn't have missed that, nope, not that.

Anyway, back to the class workings, since it all figures in, trust me. The students each have this big black cardboard folder thing that's their "portfolio," that is fine for keeping art things from getting bent, folded, or whatever'd. Each student has one, and each week at the end of the class, the students put their completed work in them (or if it needs drying, they take it home, dry it, then put it in the portfolio and deliver it to Adele's home. Then, each week, Adele arrives with the portfolios and her notes carefully paper clipped to them, providing her feedback / critique). The students can either take the critiqued works out, or leave them in the portfolio to keep a semester's class works all together.

When Sharon started, she'd bring home the critiqued works each week, and once I'd gotten her to share them with me - she was too shy at first to show them - we'd discuss them, which meant initially I'd say they were great and she'd bemoan how lousy they were. While I know as much about art as I do about Lower Slobbovia politics, even I could see that over the weeks and months, she'd gotten better - a lot better. That semester was all landscapes, with the class taking short field trips to get good views and such. Then they had a semester of still lifes - flowers and fruit and such - working at Adele's home studio on colors, in acrylics mostly, and perspective and all that. I got a frame and always kept her most recent work displayed proudly in the home, and they all really did work well, tying the room together and all that.

Then they scheduled a short summer term, since the ladies were all enthusiastic, and since Adele was enjoying it and it took little effort on her part. By that time, the novelty had pretty much worn off, and I'll admit I didn't ask her much other than "how was class?" Mea culpa, mea culpa!

So, there we were, getting ready for hosting the class the next week, and Adele had dropped off all the portfolios at our place before she caught her flight to wherever, with the previous session's work critiqued inside them. They were stacked in the corner of the living room, and one afternoon while Sharon was off somewhere, I innocently - I swear, innocently, leafed through the stack and found Sharon's, wondering what they were doing these days and remembering I hadn't updated the framed work since the spring semester.

I found it, sure enough, and when I opened it, was pretty shocked to find it was all sketches - no paints, no colors, just pencil sketches . . . of some naked guy! There were maybe a dozen of them all told, some barely preliminary, some really rushed (Sharon had said that Adele had them sometimes just sketch like crazy for a timed 30 seconds to capture whatever the subject was, which forced them to stop overthinking and just let the pencil fly). And one pretty damned detailed, with appropriate shading to lend reality, and the guy's schlong even more in detail than any other part of his body!

So, the guy - he looked to be college age, lean like a swimmer and well muscled but not all that defined (not the body builder type), shock of dark hair, bit of a vacant, disinterested look, and not a hair between toes and scalp except for an apparently trimmed pubic area, which did little to hide its main attraction. One of those dubious racial looks - could have been Caribbean, maybe Middle Eastern, maybe just Middle European or Greek or something. He wasn't circumcised, which I am, and so there was a bit of discomfort there as well - no real reason, and it probably would have worked the same if reversed, but knowing my wife was sketching something "foreign" to what she was used to made it more intimate somehow, maybe more salacious, than if we'd been of the same configuration. Assuming it was true to life, it was in the "maybe not porn, but also not reluctant to parade it around the locker room" dimensional category. I, on the other hand, am more in the "not statistically an anomaly but no way contestant in a parade" category. That would be to say, I was looking at his robust 4"+ soft, while I carry a slimmer 2 to 3, depending on shrinkage at the time. I was impressed, but not wow'd by the dimensions. I WAS wow'd by finding it in my wife's portfolio of a class I had figured was still on cucumbers of the actual garden variety.

The good news was that there was nothing in the pose, nothing in the tumescence, nothing in the facial expression to suggest that it was anything other than a life study of a guy who modeled and who happened to be undressed, oh, and happened to be better endowed than I, and happened to get his 'nads carefully and I figured faithfully represented in charcoal for posterity by my wife, for cryin' out loud! This was one I was not going to frame for the neighbors to admire, for sure!

So, what to do. I knew I'd not asked for her permission to look, but except at the start she'd always been so eager to share. I knew I'd hadn't asked recently what the class was doing, but she'd never really said. On the other hand, I was pretty sure that if she'd found out I was playing tennis with naked matrons, she'd have thought that was a notable development worth pointing out.

Nothing if not hypocritical and male as all get out, I then really did cross a line - I looked at the other portfolios. Sure enough, there he was in all his glory, in the same pose, which relieved me of the passing - discarded immediately I assure you - me, suspicious? - notion that it was a private session and not a class activity. Small comfort, but comfort nonetheless - and no, I wasn't being all rational and figuring if it had been a private thing that she'd have had it in her class portfolio.

Meanwhile, Margaret and Julia's renditions were downright comical in that Margaret's was a rear shot, very detailed at the shoulders and head, but stopping at the waist, and Julia's a dashed off sketch of the crotch in favor if focus on the hands, and the dimensions of the crotch dimensions diminished if anything, compared to Sharon's.

So now I wondered, as I searched for Annette's portfolio - was Sharon exaggerating those dimensions, or being accurate, or was there even more she was reluctant to expose? Annette's did little to put my mind at rest. In hers, he actually was bigger, obviously so! Both in girth and length, although not by a huge amount. But also, distinctly, in hers the head was peeking out, whereas in Sharon's it was completely covered. I was sort of proud that Sharon's artwork was better, but the size thing, and that turtle head being visible led me to more paranoia. Had Annette been fantasizing what might be? Had Sharon just sketched the genitals earlier, and then later in the session something had occurred that had motivated a bit of growth out of it? And if so, was what Annette sketched all that happened, or was there more, later, uncaptured on the paper? Dang! And in Annette's, she really focused on the cock, virtually to the exclusion of the legs below, and with only haphazard attention to the eyes or expression. But lots of work on the cock, with some erasures and redo's as well - maybe redoing as it grew? Hmmm... Gotta keep an eye on that Annette - possibly more interesting than I'd realized.

And then back to Sharon - damn! She didn't mention it?! How was I going to bring it up, and was he coming to class at our place, or was that whole thing over and done, or was it just warming up, so to speak?

I decided, after a strong bourbon to help clarify things, that the best course of action was, as usual, tell the truth, get it out there, then roll with things.

An hour later, portfolios carefully replaced, I heard the garage door and knew Sharon was back.

When she walked in, it was a testament to her perspicacity that she immediately said, "What?" If I ever could get ahead of her in a conversation or topic, I can't recall just when - maybe something in tennis? Anyway.

"Babe, I'm a bit conflicted. Have a seat." I said, proud of my honesty.

"Sure, what's wrong?" she said, putting down a shopping bag of something and turning her full attention.

"I was wondering how you were doing in art

"Ahm, ok. You know we're hosting the class next week, and that you decided to make yourself scarce, right?"

"Well, not exactly - I was going to make myself scarce, but here. Who else might be here?"

"OK, how'd you find out, and what's the problem?" Did I mention she was quick?

"Good segue, babe. I found out, I think, innocently, looking at your portfolio to see how the landscapes or still lifes or abstracts or whatever, were going. What I found was hardly landscape, or abstract - still life, maybe, but it's so hard to tell in charcoal," I said, with a distinct bite in my voice.

"You didn't care enough to even listen when I told you we were doing life models, did you?" she answered, with even more bite than I.

I have found over the years that an apology, however sincere, is far better than a parry, much less an attack, so I paused then said, "Sharon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such a dufus, I'm sorry for whatever. That said, what's going on?"

"Ed, it's ok. There's nothing going on at art class, except that we have gone from landscape, to still life, to. life modeling, or nudes, or whatever. We did female before male - I can show you those if you like - and it's nothing more than we have a male coming over to take off all his clothes so we can draw him, get the dimensions and perspectives and all that. There's nothing else, promise."

I crossed over and held out my arms, and she came to me, and we hugged. Nothing sexual, nothing but reconnecting. It was perfect, or so I thought at the time.

"OK, thanks - sorry I'm such a suspicious bastard," I offered.

"Accepted. Sorry I didn't make it clearer when I first mentioned it. I said it in passing, and I may even have subconsciously meant to sneak it by. Anyway, it's fun. I sort of like it when there's a naked guy around, and I'll bet you sort of like it when there's a naked female around. Oh, and don't worry - if there's a choice, be sure I'll pick that naked male to be you, every time."

More talk ensued, but the meat of it was that she'd mentioned in passing that they were segueing from still life to live modeling. Adele got them started with "Bishop," - his last name I supposed used as a moniker - ostensibly a college student who came and took off all his clothes and sat, or stood, absolutely still, for long periods of time, and then left. He was gorgeous, all the ladies agreed, and there was nothing else going on, Sharon assured me.

She did describe how the sessions went. Bishop would come in, Adele would dictate a pose for him to take - nothing very athletic since he'd be holding it for some time. The one I'd seen was pretty much the Donatello "David" statue, minus the hat. Cocky and exposed, one hand on hip, one hand on sword - a big one - with Goliath slain at his feet. The process was that Bishop would assume the pose, then the ladies would walk around him for 5 minutes or so, checking him out so to speak, then they'd position their easels where they wanted to get the view they'd chosen, or where Adele told them to, and then they'd sketch for about 10 minutes, followed by a break and different pose, more sketching, and so forth until the hour of posing was up.

"Uh, back to the checking him out part?"

"Annette says that's the best part of the class, but she's such an out-there type - you never know what she'll come up with next. In a good way - I like her, but she does tend to make comments and tease a little unless Adele puts a stop to it. Just silly stuff like, "Aren't you cold?" or "Is the air conditioner turned down too low, or is that normal for you?" - I about died when she said that to Bishop last week - he's got nothing to indicate shrinkage, but she was teasing him anyway, until Adele got us busy, that is." OK, so Annette's talking dirty to a naked guy - no wonder he's getting bigger! And Sharon's aware and just bystanding, or was this a group project?

Knowing it would really, really show me as a paranoid asshole if I pursued that line of thought with her, I buckled, and for all intents and purposes, I bought it. Accordingly, with no maneuvering room, I agreed to his coming to my - er, um, OUR - house, and exposing himself again, the next week. I spent considerable time in the next several days thinking about that damned big dick, huge though it wasn't, but bigger and bigger in my imagination. For a while, I almost convinced myself it really didn't matter to me, and then I convinced myself I was merely self-delusional.

Finally, the day of the modelling session came, and our plan was that I was just going to stay the hell out of the way, that she would host the class, and that while I'd be at home, I'd be out of sight, never involved. I hoped that my presence in the house would put my mind at ease and that it would keep anything from going awry. Realizing I wasn't exactly wholly cool with things, Sharon was treating me as a petulant child, and I was ok with that for the time being. I just wanted to be assured.

And so, wanting to be assured, I planted, without Sharon's knowledge, of course, spy cameras sequestered in the upper book cases of the living room, on timers to download to my laptop. I felt lousy about it, but something in me wanted to know, wanted proof of what she'd told me, and felt that it wasn't quite on the level. I wasn't going to snoop, but I knew that after the fact, I'd review the filmed downloads and compare to whatever she said had gone on that day.

And so, the day came, and we were all cleaned up, and the snacks for the group after the session were in the fridge, and the wine was chilled. We were just waiting for the first arrivals, the sessions taking from 2 to 3 or so, then concluding with the wine and snacks.

And then,

The phone rang. It was Adele. Bishop, the model, was sick. He'd gotten the flu, or something, felt lousy and contagious, and in any event, couldn't make the session. He was sorry. Sharon was bereft, having put some work into the event and feeling that anything but success was letting Adele down somehow. I tried to console her while figuring out what options we had.

Sharon was faced with several choices: call everyone and cancel, adjust and put out a flower arrangement or something for the class to work on, or find another model. Maybe there were other ideas, but those were the ones Sharon considered. Cancelling was ok, no harm no foul, but it meant that nothing got accomplished, and Sharon felt responsible, sweetheart that she was, not to let Adele down. Putting out the flowers was also ok, but sort of a cop out, she thought. So, that left her with at least trying to find another model.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, Sharon dropped the bomb: "Ed, you could do it."

"Do what?" I answered, as quick as ever.

"Be our model."

"What?!"

"You heard me. Be our model. Hell, Margaret and Julia could care less, Adele won't be there, and Annette will think it's a hoot, but she'll certainly not object."

"OK, let me get this straight. You want me to walk in there in my un-buff body, get naked, and stand still for an hour while four women look at me?! I'm not sure there's enough testosterone in the world to get anyone to do that, much less wimpy old me. Not to mention, if the tables were turned, there's no way in hell you'd agree to pose nude for me and a handful of guys!"

"Ed, there are a couple of things to consider," she said, ignoring my objection, and ever the argument winner. "You're a good looking man, in every way, so there's no reason to be shy about getting naked - we may even be able to make it work with you NOT naked - but I need to do something other than cancel - I know it seems trite, but I took on doing this, the ladies paid for the opportunity to draw, and I don't want to let Adele down. Second, two of the four women could care less, and I'll make sure the other one doesn't bother you. Next, I like seeing you naked, and I'll promise to make it up to you, big time, wink wink, nudge nudge - you know, some indulge your fantasy side, if you'll help me out here. And finally - finally, if you don't, I'll break your balls sometime, somewhere, in front of your buds, telling them despite my begging and bribing, you were so self-conscious that you wouldn't do this thing, if you don't. Any thoughts?"